


Good Intentions

by RedHeadedBastards



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Angels, Baking, Cake, Domestic Disasters, Fluff, Gay, Idiots in Love, LGBT characters, M/M, One Shot, Original Fiction, Slice of Life, himbos, mlm, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHeadedBastards/pseuds/RedHeadedBastards
Summary: Two gay disasters try out baking and chaos ensues as their inherent incompetence sets in
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Ronan Mulcahey/Wen Beckman
Kudos: 3





	Good Intentions

Wen yawned and shuffled half-awake into the living room. Just ahead he spotted Ronan. He was (as always) draped dramatically over Margo’s recliner in a way only thought possible for wet towels. A frustrated huff escaped him and his eyebrows drew together in concentration as he tried to make sense of the Country Living Magazine in his hands. He flipped forwards a few pages and seemed only more and more at a loss the further he read on.

“Morning,” Beckman greeted him and leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. His soft sentiment was lost though. His half-conscious reflexes missed his mark by a mile and Ronan cringed as Wen’s lips met the Irishman’s ear. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to-...” He rubbed a hand over his eyes before waving vaguely. “..Yeah.”

“S’fine, swee’hear’, jus’ a li’tle gross fer ya is all.” Ronan sat up an inch to look around before settling back into the cushions more haphazardly than he started. “Ay, ‘N? Before ya go an’ make cereal o’ wha’ever ya were gonna make, come si’ with me a min’ will ya?”

The couch creaked as Wen settled beside him. His hazel eyes looked expectantly into his brown one. “Are you sick? You don’t look too happy.”

“Nah, nothin’ like tha’. Jus’ irritated,” Mulcahey explained and showed him the page he had just been attempting to glare a hole through. It was a recipe for a simple layered chocolate cake. “I wanted ta make somethin’ nice fer Margo since she’s helped us fer so long an’ Emme’ said ‘er birthday’s comin’ up. Bu’ tha thing is tha’ this book ‘e gave me doesn’ make any sense. They go’ tha ingredien’s righ’ ‘ere bu’ look a’ ‘em! I’s like their speaking French o’ something!”

The other man leaned forwards and scanned through the recipe. “What’s a teaspoon?”

“I’s a spoon. Obviously. Bu’-”, he points at another ingredient. “Then there’s tablespoons too. Which is _also_ jus’ a spoon! Why are there two? Wha’s tha difference anyways? I though’ i’ was jus’ a mistake bu’ tha whole book is filled with tha’ shi’!”

“I have an idea,” Wen stood up suddenly and grabbed him by the hand. “I’ll show you.”

“Alrigh’y then.”

Ten minutes and three spoons now soaking in two tea cups to prep later, the two men began to try their hand at baking. It took a little while to find a large bowl and all the ingredients but whatever they couldn’t find they eventually found alternatives for. Things were starting to really come together in their opinion. At least that's what they believed by just glancing at the thing. 

Ronan was busy cutting almonds as Wen dumped a cup of water into the bowl and then a few eggs. “Don’ forge’ tha flour. Tha’s an importan’ bi’.” He reminded his boyfriend.

“Oh right!” The taller man frowned at the empty cupboard in front of him. “I used all of our cups on the other ingredients. Should I use a mug instead?”

“Hm..” He squinted at him before bobbing his head in approval. “Yeah tha’ shoul’ be fine. Doesn’ ‘ave ta be perfect.” 

The Irishman slid the bag of flour across the counter before pouring the almonds into the mix. Wen had just lifted the bag up in front of him when it began to slip from his hands. On instinct his other hand shot out and grabbed it before it fell, sending a large plume of flour into the face and chest of the man leaned in front of him. The flour-coated man coughed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“‘N.. Wha’ jus’-?” An accusatory brown eye glared up at him from a white-coated wasteland where his face had been. Wen, initially having felt terrible for accidentally dousing him in the powder, now struggled to withhold his laughter. He tried not to look at him as a few deep giggles escaped his lips. Ronan felt his face grow hot with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment before he saw the state of his clothes. “M-Mah shir’! ‘N, ya go’ i’ all over my new-! AN’ MY JACKE’?! Wen-!” He whined and uselessly tried to shake the cloth clean.

“I- I’m s-” Watching him wag his shirt about was too much for the other man and Beckman curled over as laughter overtook him. Tears streamed down his face as he guffawed. Anytime he looked up at Ronan he immediately was hit with a new wave of joy. “Sorry- I’m-!” He struggled to speak. “I-!”

“Ya think this is jus’ so funny, huh?” Beckman nodded and wiped at his face. “Well how funny is i’ for ya when I do this-!” Ronan grabbed him by the collar and pulled his laughing face down to him. He pressed his lips against his roughly, catching Wen pleasantly off guard. Just when he had begun to sink into the kiss the flour-covered man rubbed his face all over his own.

“Ah- Stop-!” He laughed trying to get away. He didn’t get far before Mulcahey wrapped his arms around him and went to work trying to cover every inch of the 7 foot tall man with flour. “Ronan, ah-! You got it in my sweater!”

“Tha’s wha’ ya ge’ fer ruinin’ my hair AN’ clothes.” He growled playfully then yelped as they both went careening backwards and landed on the floor. “AH! WEN-! THA FLOUR!!” He flailed uselessly underneath the larger man’s body. Only managing to get more of the flour on him in the process. Ronan let out a dramatic and forlorn groan and flopped his hands back down. Choosing to accept his fate rather than fight it any longer.

Wen grinned at him, his freckled face half coated as well. “Does that mean I win?” Ronan’s eye shot back open and he glared at him.

“Never!” He declared, grabbing him by the back of his leg and flipping him off. Mulcahey shimmied to his feet and stood proudly over his startled form. “Accept i’, love! In tha end I always-”

The front door creaked open and a small older woman walked through. The Irishman turned around and Margo looked between the two of them, the mess on the counter and her full sink. “..Boys.” She said in an eerily smooth tone. She took a deep breathe in and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’m gonna go visit Kat for a bit.” She went back out the way she came and slowly meandered back to her truck.

“Shi’.” Ronan shared a worried look with Wen before helping him up. “Alrigh’ new plan. We clean this up _then_ we finish tha cake.”

“Sounds good.” They shook on it and got started. Wen went to work trying to sweep the flour off the counter and floor with his hands. Mulcahey, on the other hand, began to strip off his clothes and put them into a bag so as not to track it in the house. Both now driven by their combined efforts to not get killed when the woman returned to the cabin.

-2 hours later-

Margo’s hand hesitated before grabbing the doorknob before her. She hoped her heart could handle whatever she found on the other side. She opened the door and to her surprise the kitchen looked nearly as it had when she first left that morning. Cautiously, she continued forwards.

“Shorty, Rooster, where did you all get off to?” She heard quick, very-much-audible whispering in the other room. After another few seconds Ronan stumbled out from the hallway as if pushed by an over-eager hand and grins apprehensively at her. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

“Well, ya see-,” his eye glanced at the living room and he cleared his throat. “We- Me and ‘N, ya know ‘im. Well, we made somethin’ an’- Oh-! Tha mess don’ worry we go’ tha’ all up! I’s jus’ **woosh** gone, y’know how tha’ goes. Jus’-!.. Yep.”

“Rooster, are you gonna spit it out or-?” All of her old worries were now gone and now she merely enjoyed watching the ordeal play out.

Ronan, looking rather constipated, shouted for the other to join them. It took him a second, but eventually the sheepish man came into the main room as well. In his hands he carefully supported a-.. Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was, on one of her nicer plates. Just going from the looks of the thing she assumed that if either church in town caught sight of it it’d likely be declared an abomination and quickly exorcised. 

“We made a cake,” Wen said proudly. “For your birthday!”

“Was _my_ idea bu’ ‘N helped me transla’e i’ and pu’ i’ together. Do ya know how hard i’ is ta make one o’ these?! Took ages. Bu’ i’s perfect.”

“Better than the picture,” the other chimed in. Mulcahey nodded in agreement and she chuckled. “We should have some.”

Margo had at first found the whole situation rather endearing. That is, she felt that way until that exact point. She smiled widely but as her eyes fell on the mess on the plate she only felt dread filling her gut. “Of course! L-Let’s go get us each a slice.” She had lived long enough, she decided and took the plate from him. 

She set the thing on their dining room table and did her best to cut it as it oozed beneath her blade. Margo put a strangely rigid yet gelatinous piece on each of their plates and sat down. Her two loveably stupid sons smiled excitedly at her as she scooped some onto a fork. She smiled back, prayed to whoever or whatever was out there and took a bite. “Is-..” She struggled to swallow it. “Is that sour cream?”

Ronan gave her a smug look. “Yep, we forgo’ ta add i’ in before with tha other ingredients bu’ then I remembered we still needed ta make tha fillin’. So we jus’ threw I’ in there! Clever righ’?”

“Oh? Yes, very.. Um, creative.” She chewed through another glob and gave him a supportive smile. Turning her attention to the other man beside her, she found that Wen was shoveling down the mess without hesitation. Margo’s stomach twisted at the sight but she couldn’t help but respect him for it. “Well, this was real nice, boys. I love it alot. It was-.. Was very sweet of you both to do this all just for me.”

She reached over and dusted some flour out of the fan of Ronan’s mohawk. Making a mental note to teach them how to bake before her next birthday. He grumbled and waved her off and Wen continued to eat the “cake” like a man half-starved, smiling all the while. Margo, despite her and very likely Wen’s inevitable food poisoning, found that this was the best birthday she had in a long time and looked forward to the next one they would share.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested in our characters, please check out both our Tumblr and our Instagram!
> 
> Tumblr:  
> https://redheadedbastards.tumblr.com/  
> Instagram:  
> https://instagram.com/redheadedbastards?igshid=1l0sntfjpcqb1


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